Laura
by Aaya123Woods
Summary: Carl is frustrated. His dad is playing farmer with the adults and Patrick, while nice enough, is a geek. So when he encounters a strange and nowadays rare specimen of human: a thirteen-year-old girl, he finds companionship, friendship, and maybe his first love in Laura. Set in the peaceful time at the prison.
1. that crazy redhead

Carl didn't know what to make of her.

A young girl, maybe a year younger than he was, reaching up to stab walkers with a sharpened broomstick. She was about his height, dirty auburn hair, and wide brown eyes that still had a mischievous glow to them. She thrust the broomstick into a walker wearing a sequined dress and screamed, "You're not eating us, bitch!"

So, like any fourteen-year-old boy with a lack of options, he went up to the crazy girl laughing as she stabbed reanimated corpses. God, how was this his life?

"Why are you laughing?" he asked.

"Why shouldn't I?" she countered.

"It's horrible. Killing walkers isn't a game. It's not for fun. It's to survive," said Carl, wishing she would stop grinning and making him feel like an idiot. It struck him as hilarious that after two years surviving the end of the world, he still had no idea how to deal with pretty girls.

The girl scrutinized him. Finally she said, "Has nobody said the z-word yet?" He noticed that she had a northern accent.

"What?" asked Carl.

"The z-word." She lowered her voice. "Zombie."

Carl didn't quite know what to say to that.

"Dead bodies walking around eating people? More of the dead ones than live? Hate to break it to you, buddy, but that is what is called a zombie apocalypse. Why does everybody fail to call them zombies? They are zombies. It really annoys me," the girl said. She leaned against the fence, oblivious to the walkers scrabbling at her leather jacket-clad back. "I should probably stop making the First Son feel uncomfortable," she laughed, and stuck her hand out. "Laura," she said.

Carl stared at her, completely mystified.

Laura waited with her hand out, looking at him with chocolate-brown eyes. Wow, he missed chocolate.

"Carl," he said slowly, shaking her hand. "My dad isn't the President. Tell me again why it matters so much what people call them."

"Sure he's not," Laura said, smiling. "Your people look at him like he's God. It doesn't matter, it just pisses me off. So, tell the apocalypse stories." She turned and continued to stab walkers.

"Let's not start with personal questions," said Carl. The thought of Shane made him sad and angry and loving and hateful all at the same time.

"Gotcha. So, you ever killed anyone?"

"I thought we said no personal questions."

"All right, all right. You're such a grump," Laura said. She shook the blood-covered broomstick in his face and he shied away.

"Fine, then. How about you answer some personal questions?" Carl asked.

"Fine by me. I got nothing to hide."

"Apocalypse story," he demanded. She sighed.

"At first, we were okay. It was only when it went global that we were hit really badly. So I was in bed, and I wake up, because I hear these hideous noises. I opened my bedroom door, and there are zombies crowded outside my door. I slammed it shut, but I guess one of their heads got caught in the door, and zombie brains covered me. I climbed out the window. Outside, my entire family was just milling around. I didn't know they were zombies. My mom tried to eat me. So I killed them and ran. I did find my uncle alive. But, um, he asked me to kill him. He got bit," said Laura. Her eyes were glassy with tears.

Carl looked at her. "I'm really sorry," he said sincerely.

Laura paused and wiped her eyes roughly. "Doesn't matter," she said.

"Are you okay?" Even as he said it, Carl marveled at his own stupidity.

"Mm, I'd tell you, but you don't look like my therapist," said Laura lightly, seeming to have forgotten what she had just told him. Carl chuckled.

"Yes! Victory!" she crowed. Walkers shuffled to the fence, moaning. "Oh, shut up," she said, killing a few.

"What?" he asked. Why was he constantly confused with this girl?

"You smiled, Carly. It was a historic moment," Laura said, blinking innocently. Carl glared at her.

"Don't call me Carly."

"Ah, there's the Carly we all know and love."

* * *

**I DON'T KNOW WHY I'M WRITING SO MUCH WALKING DEAD FANFICTION. You know, I have become so obsessed with this show, I was thinking about who would be best with Daryl during my test today? Like, the one that will decide my future. Yeah. Anyway, expect more of both this and Hate, my other Carl fanfiction. I love Carl. If he were my age I would totally date him.**


	2. peaches and pessimists

Carl began hanging out with Laura. She still confused him, but she was a friend.

A friend who called him Carly.

But a friend, nonetheless.

She constantly volunteered for fence duty, and sometimes Carl would go down and talk to her. He liked those times. They were a kind of break from pulling weeds and feeding pigs and cleaning guns. Not that they ever used the guns, now.

Laura would never talk about the Great Before, as she called the time before the end of the world. Only the Great After. Carl picked up scraps of information about her when he could. He couldn't often, though. She kept making him laugh.

Laura was on fence duty again. Carl sitting near her, eating breakfast. Laura was telling him how she got to Woodbury. Carl wondered how such an awful story could make him laugh.

_No, _he thought. It wasn't the story making him laugh, it was Laura. He hadn't laughed this much since Sophia was alive.

"I lived in the suburbs before it all went to shit, but my family went to the city. Basically, everyone within a hundred square miles compacted themselves into Philedelphia, 'cause they said that'd be safer. You wonder why the government couldn't pull itself together long enough to save the damn human race." Carl snorted with laughter, accidentally inhaling half the juice from his canned peaches.

"How the hell did you get down to Georgia from Philedelphia?" asked Carl skeptically.

Laura smiled at him.

"Drove."

"Yeah, right," said Carl, going back to his peaches. When Laura didn't say anything, he looked up again. "You're shitting me, you actually drove down here? At eleven or twelve years old?"

"'Course not, dumbass," she said, laughing. "My uncle taught me how to drive and to get gas from cars on the road. When he died, I drove like ten miles to Woodbury. Wasn't that hard."

Carl scowled, flicking peach juice at her.

"Yum," she said. "Peach flavored Laura. Should be a treat for you bastards!" Laura yelled, waving her fingers in front of the walkers. Carl tensed.

"I hate it when you taunt them like that. What if they actually get you?" said Carl.

"Lighten up, Carly. You're such a pessimist. Cute, but a pessimist," said Laura casually. Carl froze. This was uncharted territory. Uncharted, but not entirely unpleasant. Without him realizing it, a goofy grin spread over his face.

Laura stabbed a walker. When she pulled the poker out, the thing's eyeball was still on the end. Laura smiled delightedly. "I think I'm going to go chase Patrick with this," she said happily. She ran to the tables they had set out where Patrick was reading a book.

"What are you, five?" called Carl after her. She ignored him.

"Crazy girl," he muttered. Carl pulled out his knife and started killing walkers. _No, zombies,_ he corrected himself, smiling.

* * *

Rick, working in the vegetable plot, looked at Carl, who was smiling for the first time in a long time. He looked at the little redhead running toward the tables.

Rick wished he could have put the smile on Carl's face, but still- he was so glad it was there.

* * *

**I'm thinking of having three or four more chapters. The story ends when the group is driven out of the prison, by the way. I'm not going to tell you if this is an AU in which Carl has a carry-on love interest. Just, people? Please tell me ways I can improve on Laura's character. Normally I hate OCs because usually they're Mary Sues and there is NOTHING that I hate more than a Mary Sue.**


	3. who's got it worse than you

About two months after the Governor had fled, Carl and Laura sat inside the library. For once, they weren't doing chores or anything. They were simply sitting, talking, laughing, like a pair of teenagers should. Carl heard Beth pacing the cell block, singing to Judith a sad, lamenting song.

Suddenly, Carl wasn't sure why or how, he was telling Laura about his mother.

"She needed a C-section. We were in a room trapped by zombies with nothing but a woman with no experience, a knife, and a scared little kid with a gun. Carol cut open her belly, took Judith out. I don't even remember if she ever saw Judith. She bled to death on the floor in front of me. And then I-" Carl began to sob. "I shot my mom's dead body. Oh, God."

Carl felt pathetic, weak. He knew very well that his mom's body had been just that: a body. But he couldn't believe that he was growing up in a world where you _had_ to shoot your mom's body. Before, he didn't even know how to shoot a gun. Before, he turned up his nose at extra food. Before, he had thought zombies were cool. Before, Before, Before.

"Before the world went to _shit!"_ screamed Carl. Something broke inside Carl, a dam, and all the tears from After came rushing out. Laura wrapped her muscled arms around him. Carl cried into Laura's shoulder.

* * *

Later that day, Carl walked into Laura's cell. She was on her bed, reading something by Jodi Picoult. Carl had become very observant. You had to, After.

"Hey."

Laura looked up at his serious, somewhat nervous face and smiled. She swung her legs over the side of the bed and placed her book facedown beside her.

"Hey, Carly. Something got your panties in a knot?"

"Um, I just wanted to say, this morning-"

"-when you cried like a baby."

"Yeah, shut up," said Carl. "I mean, I don't want you to think this morning was a big deal or anything. 'Cause it wasn't. I guess that's it," said Carl, turning to go.

"Oh, I _know_ it wasn't a big deal," said Laura, picking up her book. Something about the way she said it made Carl stop.

"What exactly do you mean by that?" asked Carl.

"I mean, it wasn't a big deal, what you told me."

"Oh, so it doesn't matter that I watched my mom die and then put her down?" asked Carl, voice rising.

"Of course it does. It's terrible. But guess what, Carl, in this world, we've all got demons and horror stories! So stop feeling sorry for yourself. You were one of the lucky ones!" yelled Laura, standing up.

"I was lucky? You're telling me I was lucky? Laura, give me one person whose had it worse that I have," said Carl angrily. He wanted to take it back the second he said it, because, of course, he already knew the answer.

"You want to know? You really want to know?" shouted Laura, putting her face close to his. "The bodies, walking around outside the prison. Those people had families, they had friends, they had reasons to live, and then they were eaten alive! You want to know who else? Patrick, the geeky guy who plays with Legos? The one you only hang out with 'cause he's your age? Him! He's had it worse than you! The only reason he's still alive is because his older sister threw herself to the zombies to save him! He survived out there for six months, alone, with no weapon but a piece of glass tied to a stick! Mika and Lizzie, they've had it worse than you! They stayed with their neighbor, who turned out to be a psycho rapist! And you know who else?

"Me," she said. Her eyes shone with tears, but she didn't cry. "Me. I was alone with a baseball bat and two cans of food. After my uncle died, I was in Georgia, somewhere near Woodbury. People, they tried to steal my food, eat me, use me, everything in the Book of Batshit. I killed a lot of them. And it got easy. Shit, Carl, it got _easy_ to kill _humans._ I'm a murderer. I'm a murderer at thirteen fucking years old," said Laura, her eyes cold and haunted.

Carl hugged her. Laura hugged him back tightly.

"Me, too," Carl said quietly. "Don't worry, I am, too."

So they sat, the two teenaged killers, clutching each other like lifelines.

* * *

**I really like the whole humanity issue from the show, so I thought I'd build on it here.**

**And, I cannot stress this enough, PLEASE tell me if Laura becomes a terrible character.**

**Review, my lovely little walkers.**


	4. the best hell

Carl was eating peas. He used to hate peas, Before. Now, he couldn't believe how lucky he was to be sitting in a sunlit vegetable plot, eating raw peas, in a little squared off section of civilization.

And it did seem like civilization. Granted, the crowds of walkers were still growling in the background, but he welcomed the distant snarling. It meant they were still distant, and Carl's young civilization was still growing. They had a government. They had food. They had weapons. They had all kinds of people: doctors, mechanics, lawyers, teachers, artists, writers, and scientists, one or two of each.

And one of the women was _pregnant._

For the first time since the farm, Carl dared to hope.

He saw Patrick and Laura sitting at the tables. He ambled over curiously. Carl liked to walk slowly to places. There was always more time. What was he going to miss, his favorite TV show?

When he finally got there, Patrick looked up.

"Hi, Carl," he said. "How goes it?"

"What's up, Carly?" said Laura, not taking her eyes off of the coin she was flipping.

"Hey, guys. Where did you get that?" asked Carl, staring at the quarter spinning and gleaming in the sun. He slid into a seat beside Laura.

"My Before self liked to keep coins in her combat boots," said Laura, grinning crookedly. "You know, those boots still fit me? I haven't grown so much since Before." All three teenagers have taken to simply saying Before and After, with, Laura insisted,_ hearable_ capitals.

Patrick took off his glasses. "I used to keep my hair obsessively neat," he said. Then he gave a short laugh. "A few months into After, I shaved it all off because it was getting in my eyes."

"I used to play Call of Duty, you know, with the zombie levels," said Carl. The other two looked at him, and they all burst out laughing. They laughed for a long time.

And Carl decided that it felt good.

When they finally calmed down, Laura proposed a game.

"Let's go down and try to pick out the most decomposed one. Whoever finds it, wins," she said excitedly.

"No, Laura. No," said Carl, shaking his head.

"Fine, then. What do _you_ propose we do to entertain ourselves? It's not like there's an Xbox around," said Laura, crossing her arms.

"I wish," said Carl wistfully. "How about food? I think Daryl just killed a pig."

"Pork chops?" said Laura excitedly. "Oh, God, I haven't had one of those in years!"

Before they could jump up, Patrick spoke.

"Guys, you know how everyone used to tell us to follow our dreams and all that?"

"Yeah," said Carl, puzzled.

"Well, all of my dreams are nightmares," Patrick said.

Understanding dawned on Laura's face.

"I get it," she murmured.

"Get what?" Carl asked impatiently. "What are you talking about?"

Patrick smiled, but there was no happiness in it. "You're so stupid, Carl."

"What?"

"You know how to survive, but you don't get anything else."

"I get it," Laura repeated. "Patrick means that if the only way to move forward is to follow our dreams, and all of our dreams are nightmares, do we follow the demons to hell, or stop moving?"

"Oh," said Carl quietly. "Well, that's the million dollar question, isn't it?"

"Nah," Laura said, her usual crooked grin back on her face, "dollars aren't worth shit these days. Maybe the million bullet question?"

Patrick and Carl laughed, tension diffused. But as they stood to get their pork chops, Carl couldn't help thinking: where were you supposed to go, other than after your nightmares?

* * *

Silenced gunshots.

Late that night, after midnight, Carl had left his cell to take a piss, and could hear the popping.

He crept outside the door of the prison, following the shots.

Laura was outside, shooting walkers with a shotgun. He hadn't expected it, but this didn't surprise him. Carl had learned not to be surprised by anything Laura did. It did, however, make him mad.

"Hey! What are you doing?" hissed Carl. "Do you want to waste all our ammo?"

Laura turned around, shotgun still held aloft. When she saw Carl, she smiled and sat on the damp grass, cross-legged. Laura beckoned him down. He sighed and plopped down in front of her.

"Hey, Carly," she said brightly.

"How did you even get that gun? They're all supposed to be in the armory, and only Daryl has the key," said Carl.

She grinned at him and wiggled her fingers.

"I got quick fingers."

"Daryl is so going to kick your ass."

"Would he really kick the ass of a little girl?"

"A little girl who survived a zombie apocalypse."

"Only because of a locked door."

"So now you're arguing that you're a weak little girl?"

"Guess not. But what does that make you? A weak little boy? Because from what you've told me, you were almost dying more than I was and you had a group full of adults protecting you."

"This weak little boy has probably saved everyone's asses a couple times."

"How? Picking carrots?"

"Yeah! When have you contributed?"

"By killing those bastards outside, moron."

"Those bastards outside don't feed us."

"No, they just want to eat us!"

"What are they gonna do, eat away all the fences? And then the walls of the prison? And then the cell doors?"

"I once saw a herd trample down a two-story house."

"Holy crap, really?" asked Carl, momentarily distracted. "Where were you?"

"In a pickup truck, using the zombies as little squishy speed bumps," Laura said, her smirk in place. "Fun as hell."

"Which we're living in," Carl pointed out.

"This particular hell?" she cried happily, spreading her arms. "Most fun place I've ever been!" Laura threw her head back and roared with laughter.

Carl lay back on the grass, looking up at Laura.

"Laura, you are one of the craziest chicks I've ever met," Carl said, smiling at her.

"Yeah, well," she said, leaning over him, "everyone's a little batshit in this world."

Carl found himself admiring the way her straggly red ponytail fell over her shoulder, and the way her dark eyes sparkled mischievously.

You're such a sissy, he scolded himself, and then Laura leaned down a little farther and their lips met.

In that moment, Carl realized several things.

First, Carl liked Laura. A lot.

Second, it scared the living shit out of him.

Third, kissing Laura felt amazing. Lying on the grass with one knee up, hands under his head, with Laura leaning over to kiss him, was the best thing he had felt since the Great Before.

* * *

**So, what do my beautiful rotting walkers think of this latest chapter? Tell me in the reviews! Feedback! Compliments! VALIDATION!**

**Anyway, I have to get back to my new TV obsession, House! I LOVE that man. He's the single best character I have ever encountered ever, with the few exceptions of Shawn Spencer, Carl Grimes, and maybe a couple characters from Harry Potter.**


	5. why not

Carl didn't know how fast time was passing. He didn't really comprehend anything at that point, only that Laura's lips moving over his felt so damn good. She smelled like gunpowder and grass.

Laura pulled away, and Carl kept still for a moment, trying to keep the wonderful, evaporating feeling.

When he opened his eyes, she was standing up, gun nestled in the crook of her arm.

"See you, Carly," she said softly, smiling at him.

"See you," he said.

Laura jogged away, faint laughter reaching Carl's ears. He smiled and looked up at the stars. He realized that with everything going down on Earth, he had forgotten about the stars, sparkling, it seemed, just for the few humans left to remember that they could be happy in between nightmares.

* * *

Carl woke up late that morning.

The sun had already risen, and breakfast was almost over by the time he had put on his clothes. He left his cell to catch the last bits of breakfast.

His father, Daryl, Michonne, and Hershel were the only people still at the tables, talking to an unfamiliar black man, when he went over, blinking in the bright sunlight.

"Hi," Carl said. "Any food left?"

"There's a can of olives if you want them," said his dad. "No one else took them."

Carl grabbed the can, opening it with his knife. He winced at the sour, shriveled black olives' taste, but put more in his mouth anyway.

When he was finished, he went to rinse out his mouth with water. The olives had been the most disgusting things he had ever tasted, even by After standards.

"Hey, Carly," said Laura. Carl turned. His tongue seemed to thicken as an unfamiliar feeling of warmth spread through his body, making the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

Carl Grimes: zombie-apocalypse surviving, walker-killing, fourteen-year-old badass, shy around pretty girls.

"Hey," he said.

Laura pulled a Snickers bar out of the pocket of her cargo pants. Carl stared at the candy, entranced.

"You want to play a game?" asked Laura, eyes alight with mischief.

* * *

Carl groaned. Laura had brought them down to the fences.

"Oh, come on! You haven't even heard the game yet!" cried Laura. "Fine, then, maybe I'll just play with Patrick. Bet he won't mind playing for chocolate." She began to flounce away.

"All right, all right," Carl relented. "What's the game?"

She spun around, a bright smile on her face.

"Simple. I'll get one of the little kids to time us. By the end of five minutes, whoever's killed more zombies gets the Snickers!"

Carl sighed. He didn't particularly want to, but candy was candy.

"Fine. I'll get the pokers, you get the kid."

With the little kid in place with one of the Woodbury people's "borrowed" watches, Laura and Carl tensed at different sections of the fence.

"Go!" cried the kid's high voice. Carl lunged forward and began stabbing walkers. He started to get strangely into the simplistic, fantastic rhythm of it, aim, thrust, pull, aim, thrust, pull. Carl really missed rhythm. He used to play the drums, the foundation of most music. He'd liked routine, order, the beat of his life that screeched to a halt when the first zombie had lumbered into his universe.

Before he knew it, the kid was calling, "Stop!"

Carl pulled the poker out of the last zombie, breathing heavily.

"Come on, let's count each other's," called Laura. She ran over to Carl's portion of the fence. Carl strolled slowly to Laura's.

"A hundred sixty-two!" yelled Laura. "I am so getting that candy bar."

"A hundred seventy-eight," groaned Carl. Laura pumped her fist triumphantly.

"Suck it!" screamed Laura, grabbing the chocolate bar from the kid.

"God, I hate you," said Carl despondently, sitting down heavily.

Laura took a bite out of the candy and sat next to him.

"Now, Carly, let's not say things we don't mean," she said.

Carl turned to look at her and found her face a mere inch or two from his.

His jaw suddenly felt glued shut, but Carl gazed back at Laura steadily. He thought it might be okay if they just stayed like this, staring at each other, anticipating something wonderful.

"Can I keep this?" The little kid's chirpy voice broke the spell.

Carl looked up at the kid, who was holding out the watch.

"No, Tommy. Laura, who did you get this from?" Carl asked.

She shrugged. "Some guy. Think his name was Brendan. Something like that."

Carl rolled his eyes.

"Brandon!" the kid piped up.

"Take it back to him," said Carl to the kid. He nodded brightly and ran toward the prison. Carl leaned back again and glanced at Laura, but she was busily devouring her candy.

When she had finally finished, she looked at him. "So, are we going to talk about last night, or sit here like a pair of idiots?" Laura asked casually.

"Sit here like a pair of idiots, I guess. I don't really think this is the best time to be considering a relationship," said Carl.

"Yeah? When is the best time? When we're not in a fenced, walled sort of town?" she asked, drawing back a little. "Look, Carl, we're safe for now. And nobody is planning so far ahead. The only question is why the hell not? I mean, I like you. A lot. And if last night was any indication, you like me too. So, why not?"

Carl found he didn't have a reason not to. So he put a hand on Laura's cheek.

"Why not?" he agreed. He pulled her face closer and put his lips on hers. And this time, there was nothing hesitant or slow in the kiss. They both moved quickly and desperately, because they both knew that everything had a time limit.

But there was a kind of fire in it too, something that made everything almost seem worth it for a second.

Carl focused on that perfect moment right then, right there, kissing funny, strong, brave Laura, and felt himself falling harder.

* * *

**Yay! Early teen romance! I want thoughts! Criticism! Praise! Whatever you guys got! Just put it in a review!**

**Also, if you'd like to, please check out my new story Manhattan. It's the same universe, different characters. Only it's set in Manhattan, because there is just no fictional world unless it includes NYC. Duh.**


	6. new beginnings and nightmares

Daryl had brought a man named Bob back.

Rick hadn't wanted to take responsibility of anything but his children, but Hershel had persuaded him to at least meet Bob, like he had with the other several people they had brought back. Most still looked at Rick as the leader, Hershel reasoned, and if Rick approved, then everyone else would, too.

After Michonne, Hershel, and Daryl were finished talking to Bob, they looked at Rick, as if expecting him to put in his two cents. Rick hadn't really been paying attention. Carl was down by the fences with the young redheaded girl and a little blonde boy. He was stabbing walkers. Rick wasn't sure why, but there was a faint smile on his face. The redhead kept sneaking glances at Carl. Rick could see an expression on her face that he knew he himself had had when he'd been dating Lori. It was obvious; the enchanted sparkle in her eyes, the shy quirk of her smile.

"Rick?" prompted Hershel.

"What?" Rick said, turning his attention to the people at the table.

"Got anything to add?" asked Hershel.

"No," he said absently.

"Okay, then, let's go in. Bob, I'll introduce you to the council. They'll get the final word," said Hershel, standing. He, Bob, and Daryl went inside. Rick kept watching Carl and the girl.

"Stop!" the little boy shouted from by the fences. Carl and the girl went to the places where each had been killing walkers. A couple of minutes later, the girl punched the air in apparent triumph. Rick laughed, realizing they had been competing.

"Cute, aren't they?" Michonne's voice startled him.

"Yeah," he said, grinning at her.

"Carl really likes her, you know," Michonne said. "Her name's Laura."

"Of course it is," Rick said, almost laughing with the bitter irony. "Even when he's acting like a normal kid, he likes a girl whose nickname is that of his dead mother."

Michonne didn't say anything, just sat beside Rick and watched them. Laura was eating a candy bar. Then she sat next to Carl.

"To be a kid again," said Michonne wistfully.

"Not like they have no worries," said Rick.

"They do," agreed Michonne, "but they can forget about them for awhile just by being with someone they care for."

The little blonde boy began running toward the prison. Rick and Michonne watched Laura and Carl move closer together.

"And they always think that the slate can be wiped clean anytime," said Rick. He smiled as he saw Laura and Carl begin to kiss.

"Well, it seems that this is a place for new beginnings," said Michonne. "We should leave them alone."

"Yeah, okay," said Rick slowly. He got up, happy in his son's new beginning.

* * *

Carl broke off the kiss to catch his breath.

"You taste like chocolate," he said, grinning.

She leaned back, mock offended.

"Is that the only reason you kissed me?"

"Oh, absolutely," Carl said sarcastically. "I'm pretending I like you just to get that last smear of chocolate off your lip."

Laura smiled and settled herself beside Carl.

"Hey, Carly?"

"Don't call me Carly."

"What do you think Patrick would do if we kissed in front of him?" asked Laura.

"Have a heart attack, probably."

"Have a heart attack, turn, and then have another heart attack."

Carl snorted.

"You know, you're losing your accent," said Carl after a minute of silence.

"What accent? You crazy southerners are the ones with the accents," said Laura, shoving him playfully.

"I'm serious. Yer startin' ta sound like one o' us," said Carl, trying to mimic some of the stronger southern accents he'd heard. Laura laughed.

"No, I'm Philly to the end," she said, laying on a thick Pennsylvanian accent.

"Does it matter anymore?" asked Carl, the words slipping out of his mouth before he could stop them.

Laura stared at him for a second, surprised.

"God_damn,_ Carly. You're such a buzzkill," she said. "But no. I guess it doesn't."

* * *

Carl was awoken by a hushed, "Carly!"

"What?" he asked, keeping his eyes closed.

"I can't sleep," whispered Laura.

"I'm not your mom," mumbled Carl.

"That's okay. Just move over."

"What?" he said, confused.

"Move the hell over." Laura pushed him aside and lay down.

"What are you-"

"Shut up. My nightmares are coming back."

"Oh." Carl understood that. For weeks after his mom had died, he had had nightmares of her waking up even after he'd shot her, asking raspily, _"Why did you shoot me? I wasn't dead. I would've lived. What kind of son are you?"_

He kind of wished there was someone's bed he could've crawled into for comfort.

"Night, Laura."

"Night, Carl."

Laura curled up next to him under the sheets. Carl kissed her briefly. He didn't ask what her nightmares were. He knew she didn't want to say.

* * *

**I'm sorry for the short chapter. I haven't been feeling so good lately, and I know you guys wanted a chapter up. **

**Also, I want to offer my interpretation on the season 5 poster, 'Survive.' For the few of you who don't know, it shows Rick squatting with his back turned to a stained glass window that is shining light on him, with the word SURVIVE over him. I personally think that based on the last couple of episodes in season 4, it means that Rick has accepted the fact that he and the group have had to turn their backs on light, goodness, God, essentially humanity, in order to survive. Our Rick is going down a dark path.**


	7. candy kisses

**For the record, Carl and Laura did not sleep together. They are thirteen and fourteen. Thirteen-year-olds do not have sex. If someone can contradict me, I cry for our young population.**

* * *

Carl woke up feeling oddly peaceful.

This puzzled him for a moment, until he felt the warmth of Laura against him on the cot. She was still sleeping. Smiling slightly, he got up for breakfast.

Thankfully, today there was more than a can of expired olives to eat, so he picked up a pair of carrots. Carl walked down to the fences. He wondered absently if the walkers would eat vegetables.

He decided he didn't care enough to see.

"Hello, Carl," someone said behind him. Carl whirled around, then relaxed when he saw it was Patrick. No matter how long his dad wanted to play in the dirt with the plants, Carl was still on edge.

"Hi, Patrick," he said.

"Why are you all the way down here?" Patrick asked. Carl shrugged.

"Ever been shot, Patrick?" asked Carl.

"Yeah, why?" said Patrick.

"Day I got shot was one of the worst days of my life," said Carl distantly.

"What, no, really?" asked Patrick in a rare bout of sarcasm.

"Couple years ago, on the day I got shot, my friend Sophia went missing. We looked for her for a long time. And then we found her in the barn of Hershel's farm, a walker. She was the only friend I'd had in a while," said Carl. He let sadness color his tone.

"That sucks," Patrick said somberly. "Did you like her?"

That was what Carl liked about Patrick. He could see right through whatever you said, figure out what you were really thinking. He had once told Carl he would've gotten early acceptance into Yale, and that he wanted to study psychology.

Carl stared through the fences, through the walkers, through the evaporating morning mist.

"I could've. I never got the chance."

* * *

"Guys," said Laura excitedly. She, Carl, and Patrick were sitting alone at a table. Laura was sitting across from the boys.

"Hmm?" asked Carl, looking up from dinner.

"Yeah?" said Patrick.

"I have an idea."

"Oh, not another one," groaned Carl.

"Laura, no offense, but you don't always have the best ideas," said Patrick warily.

"You're both bastards. Okay, what we should do is go out tonight!" said Laura excitedly.

Carl spit out a mouthful of water. _"What?"_

"That is the worst idea I have ever heard," stated Patrick flatly.

Laura popped a green bean in her mouth.

"No! It's a great idea!" she insisted. "It would be so fun! Take the horses and go to that town that's like a mile away. See if we can find any good stuff!"

"That will never work. Ever," said Carl. "Anyway, they've already cleared out the good spots."

"We're not looking for food or medicine, stupid," said Laura. "Candy. I have three siblings, I know all the good spots to hide it."

"You have really outdone yourself this time, Laura," said Patrick, shaking his head.

"I don't really want to know what she did last time," said Carl, shuddering.

"She tried to steal Merle's knife hand," said Patrick. "She thought it would be fun."

"Christ, Laura," muttered Carl.

"What was fun was watching Merle chase your skinny ass around Woodbury," retorted Laura.

"You _helped_ her?" asked Carl incredulously.

"She bribed me," said Patrick defensively.

"With a college textbook," mumbled Laura. Carl laughed. "Look, the point is, it would be awesome! We should totally sneak out! Come on! You don't want to remember what candy tastes like?"

Carl sighed. "You know what? What the hell. Let's do it."

"I cannot believe you're encouraging her," said Patrick.

"I'm bored. There is nothing to do but sneak out like bad little children," Carl said, shrugging.

"Oh, for-" Patrick closed his eyes. "Whatever. Fine. Let's go."

"I knew you'd come to your senses," said Laura happily, throwing her arms around both boys.

"This isn't going to end well," sighed Patrick.

* * *

"Carl!" Carl jerked awake and found Patrick and Laura staring at him. They both had several bags and knives.

"Let's go!" Laura hissed. She handed him two bags and a knife and they crept out.

"Who's on duty tonight, again?" asked Laura.

"Zack," whispered Carl. Laura grinned.

"Perfect. He and Beth will be too busy enjoying their newfound love to notice anything."

They put the knives into one bag. Then they snuck into the makeshift stables.

Patrick tied a rope around one of the horses' neck and handed it to Laura. Laura climbed onto the other horse and squeezed her legs against the horse's sides. The horse snorted softly and began walking. The horse with rope around its neck followed them.

Patrick went up to the guard tower to distract Zack, in case he was actually paying attention. Carl opened the gates as quietly as he could. Laura and the horses walked out. Only a few zombies reacted to the soft clopping of the horses' feet. Carl and Laura killed them quickly.

When Patrick arrived, Laura asked quietly, "Who do you want to ride with?"

"I'll go with Carl," he answered. He climbed on behind Carl. "Okay, let's go."

They made good time. Carl and Laura focused on riding and Patrick killed any zombies that came close. They got to the town in about half an hour.

"What do we do with the horses?" asked Patrick. Laura shrugged. "Did you even think this through?" Laura shook her head. Patrick threw his hands up. "We're all going to die," he said.

"Don't be stupid," said Carl. "If you think we're going to die, then we're probably going to die."

"Positive thoughts, yeah?" said Laura, grinning. Carl scowled at her.

"Let's put them in a garage," suggested Patrick.

"Yeah, one of those ones that are half open, so it's harder for walkers to go in," said Carl. He kicked the horse's flanks and they trotted to a garage.

Once the horses were tied up, they went into the first house. They had decided not to split up. Safer that way.

"Look in all the places you wouldn't normally look," instructed Laura as they spread out in the first house. "Under the sink, behind the garbage can, sometimes even under a floorboard."

"Cookies!" yelled Carl. He was looking in the couch cushions.

"Did you forget about the zombies? Be more quiet," pleaded Patrick.

"Please. We cleared out this town a long time ago," Carl scoffed, his head still in the cushions.

"I maintain that we are going to die," said Patrick, exasperated. He stomped into the kitchen.

"JOLLY RANCHERS!" screamed Laura from upstairs. Both Carl and Patrick shot to their feet and raced up the stairs. They found Laura sitting on a bed, munching busily on a small pile of Jolly Rancher hard candies. The boys fell on the candy greedily.

Carl stuffed as many green apples, blue raspberries, and watermelons into his bag as he could and savored them slowly. Laura was just packing as many as she could into her mouth. Patrick was chewing them to eat as many as he could.

"This was worth it," said Patrick blissfully.

"Tell me about it," said Laura.

Carl didn't say anything, just enjoyed the sweet, fruity taste of the candies.

"Okay," Laura said after they had all eaten and put the candies in bags. "Next house."

In the next one, there was a stray walker. Patrick put it down quickly. Laura checked the bedroom. Patrick checked the kitchen. Carl checked everywhere else.

They got a bag of bite-sized Milky Ways.

On just one block, they found six bags of candy, two jars of cookies, and even a small Ziploc of jordan almonds.

"Hey, look at this!" Patrick called. Carl hurried to where Patrick was checking a bedroom. Laura was peering over Patrick's shoulder. He was pressing down on an iPod Touch, which was lighting up.

"Holy shit," said Carl.

"It must have been off since Before," said Laura. "I haven't seen a screen in years."

"There's only one album on it," said Carl, sitting next to Patrick. "Must be new."

"Well! Turn it on!" said Laura impatiently.

Patrick pressed play, and they all lay down and smiled as a scrap of Before filled their ears. It sounded a little old, but Carl didn't really care. He couldn't identify any of the instruments, but they blended together in a sad, haunting song. Before, if Carl had heard this on the car radio, he would've wrinkled his nose and switched the station. After, Carl was happy for any music at all.

The car radio. That crappy old thing had had twelve stations, and half the time, seven of those twelve had too much static to be tolerable.

Funny how the end of the world made him miss the crappy old radio.

He noticed that the room seemed a little lighter.

"Oh, shit!" yelled Laura, apparently realizing that the sun was rising at the same time he did. "We gotta get out of here!"

Carl was already jumping up. Patrick was turning off the iPod and tucking it into his pocket. They raced to the garage and dragged out the horses. Carl and Laura jumped onto the horses, while Patrick loaded the bags onto Laura's horse and climbed onto Carl's. Carl kicked the horse's flanks and they galloped all the way home.

* * *

They got to the prison as the sun seemed to be exactly half up. Everybody would be getting up soon.

Patrick fought off the zombies that stumbled their way to the group as Carl climbed over the fence. He winced as the barbed wire pricked his hands.

"Hurry up, Carly!" Laura hissed, grabbing the bags and the rope that held Carl's horse.

"I'm going, relax!" snapped Carl, dropping to the ground. He dragged open the gate and Patrick, Laura, the horses, and six walkers hurried in. The teenagers killed the zombies in seconds.

"Okay, we're okay," said Patrick, the relief prominent on his face. "We didn't die."

"Did you think we would?" asked Laura.

Patrick stared at her. "Yes, I did!"

"You've got no faith," said Laura, shaking her finger in Patrick's face. He swatted her away.

"God, you're obnoxious," he mumbled.

"See here, we have textbook behavior from a Patrick Emerson," said Laura. She straightened her back, put on an Australian accent, and gestured toward Patrick, who rolled his eyes. "Otherwise known as _majoris dorkifis,_ a Patrick Emerson not in its native habitat will use large words when uncomfortable."

Carl laughed as Patrick scoffed at her. "You're absolutely hilarious, Laura. Really witty."

She beamed at him. "I'm glad you think so."

"Anyway, obnoxious isn't that big of a word," said Patrick.

"You forget, Patty, that the world ended when I was eleven. Therefore, I stopped going to school at eleven. Therefore, I have a fifth-grade education. Therefore, I consider a lot of words big."

"You're still obnoxious," said Patrick.

"Strangely, I used to get that a lot," said Laura.

"I hate to interrupt," Carl broke in, "but Michonne gets up every day at dawn. I feel like we should get inside and hide the candy before standing around chatting."

"He's right. Let's go," said Patrick, starting to climb the second fence. They hid the candy in the armory, behind the guns they had run out of ammo for. Then they began to head for their respective cells.

"Hey guys, there's one last thing," called Laura. Both boys turned to look at her. Laura ran to Carl and planted a candy-flavored kiss on his mouth. It was slower, more leisurely. Even now, he thought that the kiss was made of pure happiness.

But before he could kiss her back, she turned and ran to her cell.

Patrick stared at Carl, flabbergasted.

"Are you- did she- how did- she's your girlfriend?" Patrick said, shocked.

Carl smiled slightly.

"Yeah. I guess she is," said Carl. He thought that maybe he didn't walk to his cell, he floated.

* * *

**Long chapter for you guys! *casually doesn't mention that it's a regular length, and that I update short chapters* I'm feeling all better now, and will be updating faster.**

**Review! You won't get cookies, but you'll get more fics. ;)**


	8. apologies

**I know I said I would be updating faster. I lied. Sorry.**

* * *

Life was good.

Carl hadn't allowed himself to think those words for a long time, but they were true. Life was good.

He had Laura, he had Patrick, he had Michonne, he had Judith, he had his dad, and everyone since the farm. They may not have been related, but Carl loved them like family.

It was amazing how fast a girlfriend, a best friend, and a family could lift his spirits. Carl couldn't place the word for the way he felt.

Happy wasn't it. Content, maybe? No, something else.

"Hey, Carlita," said Laura, hopping into the seat beside him.

"Carlita?" he asked, glancing at Laura with a faint, amused smile.

"Carlita's prettier, don't you think?" she said. Carl stared at her smudged, freckled face, wearing her crooked smile.

"There was this girl in my kindergarten class called Carlita," said Carl. "She beat up every kid in the class."

"If anyone, it was those kindergarten bitches who survived the end of the world," Laura said seriously.

"Absolutely," said Carl, nodding. "Why are you here? I'm contemplating the mysteries of life."

Laura snorted. "The new mysteries of life or the old ones?"

"They're different?"

"Oh, yeah. Oh, look, it's Patty. Yo, Patty!" yelled Laura. Patrick looked up at them from by the fences. He ran over.

"I'm on a sugar high," he said happily. "I haven't had a sugar high since Before."

"I got high once," said Laura thoughtfully. Carl's head whipped around to look at her so fast his neck cracked.

"You what?" he asked incredulously.

"Of course you did," said Patrick, burying his face in his hands.

"Don't get all judgy on me. Patricia here was with me."

"I was not!"

"You didn't remember, because you accidently snorted half the bag," said Laura. "We were hiding under a bed from Merle, and we found a little bag of powder under the floorboard. Patty spilled it all over the floor and then inhaled it. So naturally, I inhaled some too."

"Why were you looking under a floorboard? And why did Patrick inhale it?" asked Carl curiously.

"It was already dislodged. Patty's what I call an honor-roll idiot," said Laura. She pulled a mini bag of M&amp;Ms out of Patrick's pocket. "See?" she said, dangling it in front of Patrick.

"Give that back! We divided it equally!"

"It was my idea."

"Give it back anyway."

"No!" yelled Laura. She jumped up and ran. Patrick took off after her. She danced just out of his reach, laughing all the way.

And then he realized.

He felt safe.

* * *

Carl's days had fallen into a good routine.

He would get breakfast. If he had chores, he would do them, if not, he would listen to Laura and Patrick bicker. Lunchtime. He would take fence duty, then make sure the vegetable garden was doing okay. Then it was free time, and this was when he, Laura, and Patrick would tuck themselves into the armory and eat sweets. Occasionally, they went on nighttime candy runs.

But Laura was creeping into his cot to sleep more and more often.

* * *

It was freezing. Carl pulled yet another blanket around him and shivered. He couldn't get to sleep.

His cell door opened with a faint creak. He moved beside the wall as Laura climbed into the bed.

Something was different tonight.

Carl felt Laura shaking beneath the blankets. He moved slightly so he could see her face.

There were tear tracks all over her cheeks.

Laura didn't cry. Laura wasn't supposed to cry. Laura was the one person who never cried, was never weak, never vulnerable. He knew better than to think that she hadn't been in control every time she had opened up to him. Laura was the fierce one, the strong one, the laughing one.

Carl knew that his father was practically a superhero until he wasn't. He knew that Michonne was like an egg, a smooth, hard exterior, but with a brittle shell and soft insides. He knew that Patrick was strong enough, in his own quiet way. He knew that Hershel was simply focusing on one day at a time. And he knew that he himself was a complete fraud. He wasn't strong, or brave, or selfless, or any hero qualities. He just knew how to keep breathing.

But Laura?

Laura didn't cry.

So when he saw the tears shining on her face, he almost recoiled. Instead, he wrapped his arms around her.

"Laura," he whispered. Carl felt useless. There was a girl that he felt incredible affection for crying into his shoulder, and he didn't know what to say or do or think.

"I'm sorry. I'm stupid. I had a dumb dream," mumbled Laura, rubbing at her eyes.

Carl felt a sharp pain in his heart for the pure brokenness in Laura's voice. He wondered why Laura did this to him.

"You're not stupid," said Carl quietly.

"I lied," she said.

"It's okay," said Carl, kissing her temple.

"I had my older brother with me."

"You don't have to," said Carl softly.

"Before, I used to be a really deep sleeper. I mean, you couldn't get me up for anything. So my brother dragged me out of the window and somehow we got out. We went to another relatively clear building. We didn't know how to survive yet. We ate, got our weapons together, tried to figure it out. He went to sleep. I was supposed to be on watch." Her voice cracked, and fresh tears came rushing out. "I-I fell asleep. I fell asleep, and I woke up to my brother screaming as a zombie ate his face."

"It wasn't your fault."

"Don't do that. It was my fault. I deserve to feel like crap for killing my brother," she cried, pounding her fist into his chest, knocking the wind out of him. Then she leaned her forehead against the spot she'd just punched. "Oh, God, I'm sorry."

Carl didn't say anything. He was completely confused, but he just kept hugging her.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Laura sobbed. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay, it's okay," said Carl soothingly. He kept whispering meaningless comforts, because he knew that she didn't want him to say something.

"Thank you, Carl," whispered Laura.

Carl kissed her tear-stained lips and said, "Goodnight, Laura."

* * *

**OMG. Laura has tear ducts. Who the hell knew. Ugh, it's 2AM, so I need to finish my homework. Reviews!**


	9. birthdays and bees

"PATRICIA! CARLITA! IT'S MY BIRTHDAY!"

"It's Laura," groaned Patrick.

"I thought that the one place we could hide from her would be the library. She never reads," said Carl, leaning against a shelf.

"How does she even know it's her birthday?"

"I think she might be one of those evil psychos with an IQ of 200," said Carl, covering his eyes with his hat.

"Here she comes."

"Hi, girls! It's my birthday today! Do you have a present for me?" said Laura happily. She wriggled in between Patrick and Carl and kissed Carl.

"How do you know it's your birthday? And how would we know?" asked Carl.

"It's just getting warm again. That's my birthday," said Laura. She reached behind her without looking and pulled a random book off the shelf. _"The Twisted Thread._ Looks creepy," she said. "But I doubt anything will creep us out anymore. There's this new thing where we have to kill dead people.

"Anyway, I'm fourteen! I'm as old as you now, Carly!" Laura said. "Give me a present."

Patrick sighed and gave her a single wrapped Swedish Fish. "Here. I don't like them." Laura tore into it hungrily. Then she turned to Carl.

"Your turn."

"Isn't all my affection enough?" Carl asked hopefully.

"No," she said, shaking her head.

"Well, too bad, because it's all you're going to get," he said, kissing her. Patrick slapped his palm to his forehead.

Laura pulled away, eyes narrowed. "You don't bother to get me a present, and you expect a girlfriend? Nope," she said, standing. She stalked away, leaving Carl very confused.

"I told her I liked her!" said Carl.

"Do you know nothing about girls?" asked Patrick.

"No. The world ended when I was twelve," replied Carl.

"They think too much. She will overanalyze everything you do, and if you don't do anything, she'll think that she doesn't mean anything to you," Patrick explained.

Carl contemplated that. "Girls are weird."

"Tell me about it," said Patrick.

"How do you know all that stuff?" asked Carl.

"I had an older sister Before. She basically gave me a girl-decoder," said Patrick. "Just give her something either valuable or something that you know she likes. It's best if it's something that she mentioned liking in passing, to show her that you listen."

"You are a lifesaver," said Carl, jumping up. "Thanks!"

* * *

Carl lay on his bed, thinking hard.

What did Laura like?

Before, he might've given her some jewelry or something, but he didn't think that she would want something like that After. Laura was a practical person. A crazy person, but a practical person. She didn't strike him as someone who would wear jewelry, anyway.

Maybe some candy, but it was all stale, and she could get candy on her own.

A new knife? That was a plausible option. Laura liked weapons, and frequently regaled him with tales of how she had killed walkers with next to nothing on hand. But he knew that the sporting goods store had already been cleared, and Laura would already have snitched a good knife.

A morbid thought wandered unbidden into his head. He could give her the heart of a zombie. He laughed quietly to himself. He had been spending way too much time with Laura.

Carl stood. Maybe a walk would give him new ideas.

When he left the prison, he saw Michonne vaulting onto a horse.

"Michonne!" he called, hurrying over.

"Hey, Carl. What are you up to?" said Michonne, a small smile on her face.

"I'm trying to think of what to give Laura. She picked today to be her birthday, so I need to give her something," said Carl. "Can I go with you?"

"Ask your dad," said Michonne.

Carl ran into the prison. If his dad wasn't growing vegetables, he was playing with Judith.

A stay-at-home dad.

Carl almost laughed.

Sure enough, he was in the cell block, holding Judith. Beth was sitting by him, smiling down at the cooing baby.

"Hi, Carl, you need something?" said Beth, looking up at him.

"Michone's going out, can I go with her?" asked Carl breathlessly.

"Why?" said his dad.

"I want to bring something back for Laura," said Carl. He regretted the words as soon as they were out of his mouth. His dad and Beth both burst into laughter. "Quit laughing at me."

"Sorry," said Beth, rearranging her face into an expression like she was by someone's deathbed. "It's really cute, Carl."

"It's her birthday. She's making me," said Carl, his face hot as he glared at his snickering father.

"Okay. You can go," said his dad.

Carl left the cell block. He heard his father making baby noises at Judith, saying, "Carl's got a girlfriend! You can tease him about that when you're all grown-up, m'kay?"

Laura was causing a lot more trouble than she was worth.

He remembered her saying, _Now, Carly, let's not say things we don't mean._

"Let's go," he said, pulling himself onto the horse behind Michonne.

The horse trotted into the woods. Carl slashed at walkers moaning after them. Soon enough, they were surrounded by nothing but the dense forest and the faint, omnipresent stink of decay.

After several minutes of riding, Carl noticed a lumpy shape hanging in the low branches of a tree. "What is that?" he asked.

Michonne glanced up at it. "I think it's a beehive," she said, returning her attention to guiding the horse along.

"Do you have a jar?" he said, an idea lighting up in the back of his mind.

* * *

Carl covered as much of his body as he could and readied his one clean knife. He took a leafy branch and set a spark in it. It wasn't enough to set it alight, but it was enough to make it smoke. He held it under the hive and gradually, its angry buzz quieted to a low, sedated hum. Quickly, he handed the smoldering branch to Michonne, who stamped it out, and scaled the tree.

When he got to the hive, there was one lone bee wandering in lazy spirals. It looked stoned. Bees on acid.

Carl laughed quietly to himself and almost fell out of the tree.

He plunged the knife into the hive and cut away a large portion of it. He dropped the honeycomb into Michonne's waiting hands. He was halfway down the tree when the stoned bees realized that something wasn't quite right.

Michonne hopped onto the horse and passed him the hive. Before she could take off, Carl felt a sharp pain in the back of his neck.

"Ow!" he yelped, clapping a hand to his neck. When he pulled his hand away, there was a squashed bee on his palm. He wiped it on his jeans.

They got to a safe distance away. "Turn around," said Michonne, slight concern coloring her tone. Carl presented the back of his neck to her, and she yanked out the stinger. "Are you allergic to bees?"

"No, I don't think so," said Carl, rubbing his neck. He could feel it swelling.

"Good. Be pretty damn stupid of you to die over your first girlfriend's birthday present," said Michonne, grinning at him. Carl grinned back.

"Thanks, Michonne."

"Anytime, Carl."

* * *

Carl was sitting on the floor of his cell, trying to figure out how to get the honey from the honeycombs he had arranged neatly on a cutting board.

It was in tiny little octagon-shaped pockets that were too small to scoop out with his fingers, and there was too little honey in each section to drip.

"Hey, Carl." Carl turned. Patrick was standing in the door.

"Hi. Do you know how to do this?" he asked, holding out the honeycomb. "I'm completely lost."

"I'll be right back," Patrick said. He disappeared. Carl frowned and turned back to the task at hand. He tried patting one side of the honeycomb, trying to make it drip over the jar. In a minute or so, one small golden drop oozed from the comb and fell into the jar.

He'd be there until midnight if he didn't come up with something else.

"I had a beehive once for a science project," said Patrick. Carl looked around, and Patrick was striding over to him briskly with an armful of dishes. "Afterward, I learned how to get the honey out."

He sat down beside Carl. He dumped the honeycombs into a colander, then put the colander into a bowl. Then he handed Carl a wooden spoon. "Mash it up," he ordered. Patrick stood and left again.

Carl mashed the honeycombs up obediently. He didn't like not knowing what to do. He loved to learn how to do things, because doing things was the only way to survive.

Admittedly, he didn't need honey to survive, but he did need Laura.

_Whoa. Where did that come from?_ he asked himself. Carl had never needed anyone. At least, he couldn't remember needing anyone. Laura in all her strange, confusing, mysterious, happy, mischievous, beautiful glory, had turned that completely upside down.

It wasn't like Carl didn't love the rest of everybody. He did. He thought of them like family, even the ones he didn't like much. Like Carol. She was nice enough, but she had hardened since Sophia's death. There was just something about her that rubbed him the wrong way. But it didn't matter. She was part of his family, and he would die to save her life, any of their lives, because that's what the end of the world did to you.

But Laura felt essential to him, and the exact moment that Carl realized that, Laura burrowed deeper into his heart and settled in next to Judith, his dad, and Michonne.

And he didn't realize that.

Not yet.

Just then, Patrick walked in with a pot of water.

"What's that?" asked Carl, like he hadn't just had an epiphany about one of the most important people in his life.

"Warm water. Is that done?" he said, setting down the pot.

"Yes." Carl passed him the colander of crushed honeycombs. Patrick put the bowl and colander into the pot of water. It floated, but just barely.

"Leave it overnight," said Patrick, standing up with a proud grin on his face.

"Thanks, Patrick," said Carl, relieved.

"Someday, I'll help you get your balls back from Laura," Patrick teased, smirking.

"Just 'cause Laura has my balls doesn't mean I can't kill you in twenty different ways," Carl retorted.

"You're just like Merle," said Patrick, flopping onto Carl's cot. Carl sat on the floor.

"Merle? In what world am I _Merle?"_ asked Carl incredulously.

"While we were in Woodbury, Laura used to pull all kinds of shit with Merle. She'd try to steal his knife hand, put paintballs instead of bullets in his gun, stuff like that. It was her life's mission to piss him off in every way she could. Thing was, she also had him wrapped around her finger. Merle actually liked her. Treated her like a little sister." Patrick shook his head and laughed. "God, she's crazy. To be fair, they both were, so they kind of matched. The only difference between you and him is that he can kill you in fifty different ways."

"I am not Merle. She doesn't have me wrapped around her finger," said Carl.

"You sure?"

"Shut up."

They stayed in Carl's cell until dinner, talking and laughing. The conversation strayed from Laura to comparing the strangest things they had ever seen a zombie do, then to their favorite movies. They acted like normal boys, which for Carl, was a strange thing.

It was funny the way you could live your whole life happy and ignorant, and then with one sudden imbalance of the universe, after a short while, you can't even remember what it was like to be happy and ignorant.

Carl, for a couple hours, was happy and ignorant.

But even when they weren't talking about her, Laura was never far from his mind. After all, that's what love is.

* * *

**I'm so sorry I haven't updated in forever. I have no excuse.**

**I LOVE CAROL, OKAY? It just fit that scene to make Carl uneasy about her. Anyway, right afterward, he said he'd die for her.**

**So, Carl doesn't know he loves Laura yet, and Laura doesn't know she loves Carl yet, but they officially do, as of this chapter.**

**Also, vote. Who wants the next chapter to be from Laura's POV?**


	10. a razor's edge

**ERMAGERD I'VE BEEN WRITING THIS FOR TEN CHAPTERS! Thank you to everyone who has been here since the beginning and who have just started!**

**As always, all I want is your reviews.**

**Also, very soon season 4 will start in the story. You know what that means: Patrick's a zombie and a deadly virus ravages the prison! Yay!**

* * *

Laura POV

Laura was scared.

Not to say she hadn't had crushes before, of course she had. But this was different. Whenever she was with Carl, she was hyper-aware of everything. When she made him laugh, she felt someone had hoisted her on top of the world. It was strange. She'd never felt like this about someone before. It felt good. Liberating, almost. Carl made her feel like she was a good person. She knew it wasn't true, but with Carl, it didn't matter.

It also made her feel as if she was on the verge of losing everything she was. This was absolutely terrifying, because Laura had always been very confident in herself. If herself was disintegrating, then how would she survive after this good break was over?

Laura wasn't an optimist. She knew that this would end eventually. Either the Governor would come back and tear them to pieces or the zombies would bring down the fences and tear them to pieces.

The only question was, how would she survive?

Because she was selfish. _Not a good person._

But selflessness got you killed. _Doesn't mean you're a good person._

It had only been a day, and she was missing Carl. _That was a stupid thing to get mad at him for. Just stick it out for another night, and he'll come back with a stale pack of Skittles and apologize and you won't be able to say no._

The Voice Inside Her Head. It had started just after the epidemic and had never stopped. She knew perfectly well it was in her head, although she heard it just as clearly as she heard the snarling of the zombies. She wondered if that made her crazy.

Probably, but the Voice Inside Her Head was the only voice of reason in her brain.

Once, on the road before she'd found her uncle, she'd stumbled across an art studio. She'd had so much fun, drawing tattoos on herself and splashing paint all over the store.

She'd actually tried doing a real painting. Just an abstract thing. She'd taken a bunch of colors and brushed them gently across the canvas. The result was a pattern of bright, loud colors in soft, gentle strokes. On a whim, she'd taken a permanent marker and wrote across the top in big block letters.

MY MIND

She was balancing on a razor's edge. On one side was staying Laura, the one who made a self-portrait of her mind, and on the other side was companionship in the people of the prison.

The problem was, the people of the prison held a piece of Laura.

Trying to distract herself, Laura opened her book, _My Sister's Keeper._ It was the only thing she had brought all the way from Pennsylvania. She had been raised in a six-child family, and every one of those children had loved the book. It bore the scars of all of them. Ally, who'd ripped off the corners of the pages and chewed them, Tom, who'd dog-eared the best scenes, Damian, who'd corrected every typo, Jason, who'd put Post-its bearing insightful comments after every chapter, and Bella, who'd inscribed their surname on the inside cover in neat calligraphy.

It was a Sara chapter. Laura wrinkled her nose. She didn't particularly like Sara. She was one of the characters that bullshitted her way into feeling okay about herself.

So that's why Laura almost burst into laughter when it was Sara who said it.

_It is the things you cannot see coming that are strong enough to kill you._

* * *

Laura meandered down to dinner. They were having fried potatoes, because on a run, Tyreese and a few others had discovered a ten-gallon jug of cooking oil.

Laura thanked the Zombie God for it.

She filled her plate and slid into an empty seat. She immediately began attacking the potatoes. They crunched under her teeth.

Oh, God, they tasted like french fries.

"Laura?" Laura whipped her head around to see Carl standing there. He was holding a half-full jar of something amber-colored.

"'Sup, Carl," said Laura thickly. Her mouth was full of food.

"Got your birthday present," he said, holding out the jar. Laura swallowed.

"Is that honey?" she asked excitedly.

"Yeah. Got it from a hive a little farther out," he said, shifting his weight. Laura stared at him, a small smile on her face. Something inside of her was touched by his effort.

"I thought you'd just sulk for a night and then give me a piece of candy or something," she said quietly. "Thank you."

"No. I wouldn't do that," he said. Laura inched over and patted the seat beside her.

"Sit," she said. He sat.

Laura opened the jar and used her fork to scoop out some honey. She sucked the sweet liquid away, dipped it in again, and offered it to Carl. He grinned and took the fork.

They passed it between them until all the honey was gone.

"That was the best damn honey I've ever had," Laura said happily, licking the last of the honey off the fork. Carl didn't answer her. He just stared at her in a way that made her heart beat faster. How the hell did he do this to her?

"Laura?" he said softly. He laid his hand on her cheek. She didn't dare move, for fear that she would burst this perfect moment like a bubble.

"Yes?" she breathed.

"Happy birthday," he said. And then he kissed her.

She always loved kissing Carl, but this one, it was better than all of them. She felt like Carl had pulled down the stars and handed them to her.

No one had ever cared enough about her to give her the stars.

She hoped she fell on the side of the people of the prison.

But she still couldn't let go of herself.


	11. shit show

**SEASON FOUR!**

**Okay, I don't remember the EXACTLY what happens, so don't crucify me for a few (a LOT) of mistakes. Just- *makes distracting hand gestures* the plot is what matters.**

**Fun fact: 30 Days Without An Accident is the first episode of the Walking Dead I saw. It was a rerun, and I was like, "cool, zombies." A few months later, I found it on Netflix, and my obsession was born.**

* * *

"What are you doing in here?" asked Carl, poking his head into the library. Laura was nestled among the little kids, who apparently liked red hair. They were climbing all over her.

"What? I like storytime."

Carl rolled his eyes. "Food's ready."

"Yum. Come on, guys, food," said Laura. She tried to stand up, but the weight of the five-year-old still clinging to her made her fall. Carol smiled and pulled the little girl off of Laura gently.

Carl and Laura slid into their seats next to Patrick.

"Do you guys want my food? I'm not feeling so great," said Patrick.

"I'll take it," said Laura, pulling the pork toward her. She started shoveling the meat into her mouth.

"Are you okay, Patrick?" asked Carl. Patrick looked pale and nauseous.

"Yeah, fine. I'm just going to go lie down. Maybe go to Carol's thing later."

"Storytime? She holds them in the afternoons, too?" asked Laura, looking up.

"Laura, shut up. Seriously, Patrick. Ask the doctor for something, you look like hell," said Carl.

"Yeah, um, okay." Patrick stood up woozily.

After lunch, Carl and Laura retreated to his cell.

"Ugh, I'm so full I can't move," sighed Laura, stretching as she sat on the floor. Carl pulled a small bag of candy out from under his pillow.

"Too full for candy?" he asked.

"Hell no," she said, reaching for a piece.

Laura ate it quickly and wiped her fingers on her shorts. She scooted to sit by Carl on the cot.

"Hi," she said.

He looked at her. "Hi."

She kissed him. To his surprise, she didn't draw away after a second. Instead she deepened the kiss, trailing her tongue across his lip. He responded eagerly, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her closer.

His head spun with stars as she kissed him more fiercely, pushing him so that he was almost lying on his back.

"Is this a bad time?"

They jumped apart, Carl's face hot. He glanced over at Laura. She was grinning.

"Hey, Dad," he said awkwardly. "Um, this is Laura."

His dad looked at them, an amused smile splitting his face. "Hello, Laura. Heard a lot about you."

"Hi, Mr. Grimes," said Laura, standing and shaking his hand like she hadn't just been caught making out with his son. "I've heard a lot about you, too, although mostly not from Carl."

His dad stared at her for a split second before laughing. They walked out of the cell, his dad apparently forgetting about what he had wanted to say to Carl. Carl groaned and fell back onto his cot. His dad and Laura conspiring would not turn out well for him.

* * *

The sun was setting, and Carl couldn't find Laura or Patrick.

"Carol!" he yelled, hurrying over to her. She was leaving the library, at least five kids in tow.

"Hi, Carl," she said. "What is it?"

"Have you seen Patrick? Or Laura?" he asked. "I can't find them."

"Patrick was at storytime. He left because he was feeling sick. I haven't seen Laura since this morning."

Carl's brow furrowed. There wasn't exactly a ton of places they could be, and he couldn't find them anywhere.

"You are in so much trouble, young lady!" He whirled around. There were a limited amount of 'young ladies' around, and even less who liked to get into trouble.

A woman dragged Laura out of a room with a tight grip on her arm. Laura had on a smirk, one that annoyed Carl to no end. Sure enough, the woman yelled, "Wipe that smile off of your face! Next time, you'll think twice about nosing in other people's things."

Carl hurried over to the woman. "What happened?" he asked.

"This girl was poking around my room. She's a thief! Are you going to tell your father about this?" said the woman furiously.

"Uh, yeah. Come on," he said, grabbing Laura. He yanked her away. After a moment, the fuming woman went back to her cell and slammed the door shut. "What the hell were you doing?" Carl asked. She shook him off, still wearing her irritating smirk.

"Her husband is giving me three batteries to try and find out if she's cheating on him," she explained.

"Is she?" asked Carl. "Do you do that often?"

"All the time," she said, shrugging. "And she totally is."

"There is something seriously wrong with you," said Carl, shaking his head. He started walking back to his own cell.

"Before, I wanted to be a private investigator," said Laura, following him. "Good compromise."

"So. Should we pick up where we left off?" he asked, pulling open his cell door. She grinned at him.

"Absolutely."

* * *

Laura was sleeping in his bed again.

Not that he minded, but she was having nightmares almost every night.

It was unnerving, to see her usually smiling face twisted in fright.

Whenever Carl saw her like that, he wrapped his arms around her tightly until she calmed down.

That was how they worked.

During the day, Laura shined happiness into the dark corners of his life. During the night, Carl held her and kept the shadows away.

* * *

Carl woke up to a yell.

Then gunshots.

"Crap," he muttered. He tried to get out of bed, but he tripped over a still-sleeping Laura. "Crap!" Laura's eyes snapped open. Another gunshot went off, and she sat up, instantly alert.

"Crap," she agreed. "Let's go."

Carl hurried out of his cell, Laura on his heels. He looked around, eyes widening in panic.

There were walkers in the cell block.

"Oh my God," said Laura, horrified.

"There's a gun in my room," he said. "You take that, I'll get a bat." She backed into his room and grabbed the gun and the baseball bat.

"Here," she said, shoving the gun at him. "Take it."

"No. You have better aim, anyway. Just take the gun!" he snapped, grabbing the bat. She tightened her lips but held up the gun. They flattened themselves against the wall and crept in opposite directions, taking down walkers as they went. More than once, they had been far too close to a walker without realizing it, and the other had blown its head open.

In no less than five minutes, all the walkers were dead, though it had seemed to stretch on forever. Carl scanned the room quickly and found Laura, running over to her.

"Are you okay? Were you bitten?" he asked breathlessly, his eyes scanning her bloody body.

"No," she said, breathing hard. "Oh, God, Carl." She wrapped her arms around him, burying her face in his shoulder.

They stayed that way for a long time, holding each other.

* * *

"We have to find Patrick," Laura said as they sat at the picnic tables. It had become their unofficial meeting place, and Patrick hadn't showed up for almost half an hour.

"Yeah," Carl agreed. "I'm going to go ask someone." He hurried away, Laura trailing after him. He called out to the first person he saw.

"Daryl!"

Daryl turned, his face unusually somber. "What?"

"Have you seen Patrick? We haven't been able to find him."

"No one told you?" Daryl asked, his brow furrowing.

"Told us what?" Laura interrupted.

"Patrick was the first to turn."

"What?" Carl asked. Rage bubbled up inside him. Patrick couldn't be dead. They had just talked to him the day before.

_(You're soft.)_

_What?_ he thought.

_(You're soft. People dying never used to bother you. Hell, you shot your mom. Patrick dying is nothing, just a blip on the grand scheme.)_

_He was my friend._

_(She was your mom.)_

_That was different._

_(How?)_

_It was a- a desperate situation. Judy was born, there were walkers at the door. I was used to it- it was just different._

_(Yeah. You were used to it. You should be used to it now. Stop whining, toughen up, and get past it.)_

"Carl? Carl, are you okay? Carl!" He snapped his head around to see Laura's worried dark eyes.

"What?"

"Patrick. He's dead. Didn't you hear him?" she asked, her voice quavering.

"Yeah. I did. I don't- we have to keep going."

"What are you talking about? He's dead," said Laura, staring at him.

"Look at the world we're living in," he said his voice haunted. "We _cannot_ be distracted by this crap. We can't- we have to move on because we can't afford to be weak. We will die otherwise. You should know that better than anyone."

"Carl. That's not- I am not going to deal with this right now," Laura said. She backed away, holding her head in her hands.

"Laura-"

"No, Carl. My best friend just died, and you're telling me to just get over it. How fucking dare you? I have a moment to- to grieve for Patrick, when I couldn't for Tom and Damian and Ally and Jason and Bella, and you are trying to take away my moment for grief. You don't- you can't do that to me." Laura stepped further away. Carl didn't say anything, just stared at her.

Laura turned and ran away.

* * *

Carl lay in his cell until dinnertime.

He moved mechanically. He sat alone. He ate his venison.

Things acted as they usually did, but it passed in a strangely objective blur. It was like he was on the outside, looking into a shell-shocked community.

Two more people were sick.

He stared at his meat.

"What a shit show," he muttered.

"Ain't that the truth." Carl looked up. It was Beth, of all people, holding a plate of food. "You okay, Carl?"

"Fine, I guess."

She smiled faintly and sat down next to him. "No, you aren't. You're sitting alone. Your group is broken up. You don't seem too sad about it, though."

He shrugged. "Not a good idea to be sad about things. Makes you weak/"

"Just don't forget the difference between being weak and being human," she replied, staring steadily at him. "Okay?"

"Okay," he lied.

* * *

"Carl?"

Carl opened his eyes to Laura's voice. She hadn't crawled into his bed that night, and it felt strangely empty.

"What?"

"Karen and David were killed," she said, leaning against the doorframe.

"By the sickness."

"Someone killed them."

He flopped back onto his pillows.

"Complete shit show," he said softly.

"Yeah, well. Just thought you should know." For a second, Carl thought she might come in, curl up beside him. But she didn't. Laura left Carl with no one but the company of his own thoughts.

* * *

**An extra long chapter because I haven't updated since 1987. WHO LIKES THE ROMANTIC ANGST?**


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